


whose history, waiting

by couldaughter



Series: traced upon the skies [3]
Category: Hot Fuzz (2007), Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch, The Ritual (2017)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Id Fic, POV Danny Butterman, Trauma, Wish I Could Justify This One With Tags But Alas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27214312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couldaughter/pseuds/couldaughter
Summary: “Long time no see,” he said, cheerful to a fault. “How’s the swan?”“A right bastard as always,” replied Danny, stepping aside to let Peter through to the hallway. “We reckon there’s a whole flock now.”“I think it’s a bevy if it’s swans,” said Peter, in his ‘imparting trivia’ voice. “Alright, Angel?”
Relationships: Nicholas Angel/Danny Butterman
Series: traced upon the skies [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1399525
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	whose history, waiting

**Author's Note:**

> here we have a not very coherent third instalment in the annual series: rosie crosses rivers of london with other things, increasingly niche

“Andy’s brother’s down from London,” said Doris, feet up on her desk and crossed at the ankle. The swear jar teetered ominously on the edge, half full of various shrapnel. “Apparently he’s a right nutter.”

Danny tutted. “Can’t say nutter anymore love, ‘s not in the handbook.”

Doris snorted. “Alright then, he’s having a mental health crisis an’ needs some time in the country, like.”

“Better,” said Danny. He tapped his fingers on the desk, chewed-off nails making barely a sound, and took a bite of digestive. “Any news from you-know-who on this case?”

“Says it sounds right up ‘is alley,” Doris replied. She made a show of checking her phone. “Got to ask ‘is governor before he can come down, apparently. Might be a day or two, might be less. Never know with that lot”

“Right.” Danny sighed. First murder of the year and it just had to be a bloody weird one. “What’s the brother like, then? Besides mental.”

Doris looked thoughtful for a moment, tapping a finger against her chin. “Well, they’re meant to be identical but I don’t really see it. Looks like a squirrel that’s about to get eaten by something big and scary.” She puffed out her cheeks in what Danny assumed was an attempt to demonstrate.

“Bear?” Danny guessed. He didn’t know if bears ate squirrels but it seemed like a decent shout.

“Could be. Anyway I’ve only seen ‘im at a distance, like. He’s had a bad time, seems like. Andy wouldn’t say anything about _that_ but he actually looked a bit worried.”

That took a lot, Danny knew. He’d heard stories about Cartwright getting stuck in a house fire as a kid and only crying when he found out his football kit got singed.

“You might have better luck with him anyway, Andy said he’s one of your lot. Hoped you’d connect, I think, you know he’s always going on about not holding with feelings and that shite.” She rolled her eyes. “Lying little prick.”

“What lot’s that, then?” Knowing Doris it could be anything from action movie fan to adult, human and male.

Doris looked at him like he was stupid. It was a look which, thankfully, she used a lot less these days. “Gay as a pear tree, mate.”

Danny frowned. “What’s gay about pears?”

She cackled. “If you have to ask, love, you’ll never know.”

* * *

Cartwright lived on a quiet residential street just outside the town centre, a few minutes’ walk from the Somerfield and about as far from what Danny had imagined Cartwright’s house might be like it honestly made him feel a bit dizzy.

The door knocker was shaped like a lion and tarnished with age. Danny knocked three sharp raps - tap, tap, tap - and grinned at Cartwright when he cracked open the door.

Cartwright grunted.

“Afternoon, Andy,” said Danny cheerfully. “Heard your brother’s down. Doris says ‘e looks just like you.”

“Nah,” said Andy, opening the door all the way. “Ugly little tosser,” he continued, at a much higher volume.

Danny stepped over the threshold at Andy’s dismissive wave and took a quick look around the passage. There were a lot more books than he’d expected, stacked up haphazardly like the underfloor heating at Caerleon. The Romans were right clever, Danny reckoned.

Andy pointed at the stairs. “Spare room,” he said. “Hope you might get more out of ‘im than I have.” He didn’t frown, exactly, but his general fuck-off aura backed off slightly. Danny took a deep breath and coughed on a lungful of dust.

The third step creaked as he made his way up the staircase, but it wasn’t too perilous. He remembered climbing the bell tower at the church as a kid, on his tiptoes all the way up the uneven stone steps.

“Second on the left,” Andy said, a little belatedly, as Danny stood on the landing and squinted at the multitude of closed doors. “Loo’s by the stairs, don’t shit or it’ll flood.”

“Ta,” said Danny, before knocking gently on the second door on the left. He could hear the covers on the bed moving, which he figured was as much invitation as he was going to get.

“I work with Andy,” he offered, pushing the door open a fraction. “Thought I’d come by and welcome you to the village, eh?”

A lumpen duvet monster said, “H’lo,” in the most miserable voice Danny had ever heard.

Danny stepped into the room and immediately onto a plate. Cutlery leapt dramatically into the air before clattering down onto the floorboards. The duvet curled, somehow, into an even tighter ball.

He scooped the cutlery back onto the plate and set it out on the landing before making his way, much more carefully, over to the window. The curtains were closed, allowing only a tiny chink of light through from outside, which Danny thought was a shame considering the weather was actually pretty good for November.

He pulled them open, coughed again on the dust cloud it released, and turned back to face the bed. “I’ll just tidy up a bit, then,” he said, as happily as he could manage, and stooped to pick up a couple more plates from beside the foot of the bed. It wasn’t too messy, really, about as bad as Danny’s room had been before Nick moved in, but he knew from experience how hard it could be to get a start on tidying your room when you were feeling poorly.

It was a nice room, really, Danny thought idly as he piled laundry into the basket on the landing. Exposed brick on one wall, fresh paint on the other three, and the ceiling a decent height for the area. Nick had banged his head on the lintel of about six different doors while they were house hunting. He’d almost ended up with a permanent dent in his forehead from it. He’d certainly had a semi-permanent frown.

After about ten minutes of tidying he had a decent stack of washing up outside the door and an almost clear floor. There was a rug rucked up beside the wardrobe, one door open and the other hanging weirdly on its hinges. He flattened it out and spent a few minutes laying the fringe out properly.

He resisted the urge to text Nick about it. Much as he loved him, he did hate when Danny texted him at work. Apparently it was “distracting” getting “hundreds of texts” when he was interrogating suspects. Danny protested that it was _barely_ dozens, but then Nick showed him the text logs which were, admittedly, incriminating.

The bedframe creaked behind him. Danny straightened, stretching his arms above his head until his back popped, before turning around.

The duvet monster had emerged, now visible from the waist up, wearing an ancient hoodie and an expression of complete bafflement.

“Who’re you?” He asked, eyes narrowed. His back was pressed up against the headboard.

“PC Butterman to the public, but since you’re Andy’s brother I reckon you can call me Danny.” Danny grinned and gave him a mock salute, three fingers to his forehead. Dad hadn’t let him be in the Scouts, but he’d always liked the idea. “I didn’t actually get your name from Andy _or_ Doris though, right oversight that.”

“I’m Luke,” said Luke, warily. He blinked a few times, then rubbed at his eyes with a closed fist. “Sorry, I’m being rude. Not used to people I guess.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” said Danny. “My husband’s the same, took him _ages_ to warm up to everyone.”

Luke blinked again, slowly — your classic gaydar ping taking a moment to register. “Right. Um, nice to meet you?”

“You too,” Danny agreed. “Want to help with the washing up? Only, there were sort of a lot of plates.”

“Um, okay?” Luke didn’t sound convinced, but Danny figured it’d be better getting out of bed than staying in it. That had also been in the handbook, now he thought about it.

He went to wait by the doorway while Luke got out of bed. It looked like it was a bit of a process — he had bandages disappearing up the hem of his pyjama bottoms, and Danny glimpsed the edge of a massive sticking plaster peeking out of the collar of his hoodie.

It was clear pretty quickly that Luke was going to take a few minutes getting downstairs, so Danny went ahead to the kitchen with the plates to start running the hot tap. In an old house like this it’d probably take ages. He looked out the kitchen window while the pipes spluttered, and squirted a bit of fairy liquid into the bowl just as Luke shuffled in.

Andy, peeking in from the living room, raised his eyebrows. It was the kind of look that said ‘Look who’s decided to wake up!’ in the voice of a thousand mums. Danny never would’ve thought Cartwright could make a face like that.

Danny dunked his hand in the water to check the temperature - just this side of scalding, perfect - and chucked the entire pile of plates in. Water sloshed over the side and dripped onto the floor.

“Fuck off, Butterman,” said Cartwright. “Does Angel let you wash up like that?”

Danny stuck out his tongue, and didn’t reply. Luke looked baffled, but came to join him at the sink.

“You wanna wash or dry?” Danny asked, ignoring Cartwright’s middle finger. “I’m not choosy so long as it gets done quicker.”

Danny didn’t like doing the washing up, but he minded it less with company.

Luke pulled the nearest tea towel off the handle it was looped over and squeezed past him to the corner. “Drying’s fine. I can’t get these wet,” he offered, rolling his sleeves up to reveal yet more bandages.

Danny hissed in sympathy. Even besides the bandages, Luke’s arms were covered in thin scratches from elbow to wrist. “Looks nasty.”

“Lost a fight with a forest,” said Luke, with something like a smile. “Anyway, you gonna get scrubbing or what?”

Danny took a second to put his phone on the side, out of the washing up danger zone. He briefly imagined the circumstances that might be described that way — maybe a parachuting accident? He’d have to think about it.

The washing up didn’t take too long with Luke to dry everything off — Danny hated stacking the drying rack, so it was nice getting to see all the plates put away neatly instead of dripping suds onto the side. His phone buzzed a few times, probably Nick letting him know he was on his way home.

“So,” he said, attempting a casual air while he scrubbed at a stubborn bit of pasta sauce. “What’s brought you back down to Sandford?” He had a couple of guesses, but he had to admit he wasn’t always that logical about detective work.

Luke glanced across at him. His fingers tightened on the takeaway tub he was drying off, one corner of the tea towel stuck into the rim of the lid. “Needed a change,” he said, vaguely.

Danny followed his gaze out of the window above the sink. The back garden was surprisingly neat — Danny would’ve expected Cartwright to leave it all jungle-like, but instead it was lined with flowerbeds and had fucking patio furniture just outside the back door. An enterprising squirrel was trying to climb onto the squirrel-proof bird feeder. Danny thought fleetingly of bears.

He was quite good at waiting people out.

“And, um, I thought it might be nice to see people again. Haven’t got anyone in London anymore.”

“Right,” said Danny, encouragingly. “We’re a welcoming lot down here, these days.”

Luke smiled faintly. “Yeah, I remember what it was like before I left for uni. Probably lucky I didn’t get buried under the museum or whatever.”

It had been long enough that Danny did find that pretty funny. He snorted, and put the last plate on the drying rack. “Yeah, it took ages to get them all reinterred. ‘Specially after the vicar got sent down.”

After wiping his hands on a different tea towel - a commemorative one for the model village, tea-stained - he picked up his phone and checked his notifications. Luke put away another tupperware, actually stacking them neatly on the shelves like the nutter Doris said he was.

He had a text from Peter - _can get down for this evening, tell the swan to get ready_ \- and another one from Nick, letting him know he was getting started on a curry for dinner.

The phone clock said it was just past four; the kitchen clock was stuck at half two.

“Oi, Cartwright,” Danny shouted through the door. “Your clock’s off. No wonder you’re always late to the pub quiz!”

“Pub quiz is shite anyway,” Andy shouted back. “Fuck off back to your little fairy oasis for your precious little curry night, mate.”

Danny checked his phone again. The text from Nick had been in the group chat - a rookie mistake on Nick’s part, considering the quality of cooking they all usually displayed in there. Once Wainwright had sent a picture of a loaf of bread he’d baked that honestly looked indecent.

Luke winced in Danny’s direction.

A thought occurred to Danny. “Hey,” he said, before he could start thinking for reasons not to. “You fancy joining me for dinner? Got to be better than, um, off-license frozen lasagne and beers.”

Cartwright banged on the wall a few times.

“Are you sure?” Luke looked surprised and, if not actually delighted, at least slightly less miserable than Danny was beginning to suspect he always did. His face had the most frown lines Danny had seen in a while.

“Course! Nick always cooks for an army, last week I was eating chickpea pasta for lunch until Thursday.” It had been really good, actually, kind of spicy and with the vegetables blitzed up in the food processor so Danny didn’t even have to think about getting his five-a-day.

It took Danny putting on his coat for Luke to actually accept the dinner offer and head upstairs to get changed.

While he waited, Danny pulled out his phone and sent a quick message to Nick - _picked up a stray for dinner, set the table for three? -_ only for his phone to ring a couple of seconds later.

He picked up and put it to his ear, already smiling. “Hey, handsome,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll be home in ten minutes, no need to be clingy.”

Nick huffed, but Danny could tell he was smiling, the softy. “I was actually calling to say it’ll be four for dinner, including this stray you’ve adopted. Hope it’s not another bloody cat.”

“Don’t start that again, Nick,” said Danny. “You love Officer Mittens and she loves you.”

“I’ve got scars that say otherwise,” Nick grumbled. “Peter’s made good time, he called from the services that he’ll be here by six. Figured he might as well come round and get a bit of a briefing on the whole, uh, shitstorm.”

“Oh yeah, he texted me that he’d be here this evening. It’ll be nice to catch up _before_ we get into the murders.” Danny put a lot of emphasis on the _before_. Last time Peter came down they didn’t even get to see baby pictures before Nick was on him about the vestigia awareness training scheme. Right shame considering that there were twice as many photos as they’d been expecting.

There was a sudden clatter from the landing. Danny craned his head and just spotted Luke looking faintly embarrassed, his wallet and keys by his feet. He’d changed into a button-up shirt and jeans, both creased but clean, and it looked like he’d run a comb through his hair. Danny gave him a thumbs up with his free hand.

“Look, I’ll be there ASAP to look sexy while you don’t let me chop vegetables,” he continued, and hung up while Nick spluttered.

* * *

Danny let his keys clatter onto the little shelf by the front door with a relieved sigh.

“Come on in,” he said to Luke, standing uncertain at the threshold. “Make yourself at home.” He gestured down the hallway to the living room, already making his way to the kitchen. Luke could sort himself out, Danny reckoned. He smiled as Mittens made her way into the living room after him, slinking around his ankles. He hoped Luke was a cat person.

Nick was well on the way to finishing dinner when Danny came in, wrapped an arm around his waist and kissed him swiftly on the cheek. “Hello, sunshine,” he said with a grin. “Day went alright?”

“Alright enough,” said Nick, stirring the saucepan of tikka masala sauce with a frown of concentration. “Looking forward to Grant helping us sort this bollocks out.”

“Oh yeah, it’ll be nice to catch up too,” Danny said thoughtfully. Peter kept saying he’d come down to visit when he got a bit of time off, but it rarely came up with all the magical shite going on in London. He was still a bit vague on exactly what Peter _did_ as a professional wizard, but he figured it probably involved less swan hunting than his job did.

“He’ll be here in a minute, you can ask him then,” Nick said, sensible as always, and shooed him out to the living room. Danny left, but not until after he stole a quick kiss for his troubles. It was only fair.

Luke was settled on the sofa with Mittens kneading his leg with her paws. It was adorable enough that Danny took a moment to grin before sitting in the armchair across the room.

“She likes you then,” he said. Mittens didn’t normally warm up to people quite so quickly — she still wouldn’t let Wainwright near her without hissing, which made movie nights a bit of a drag unless they shut her in the bedroom for the evening. Could be bold as brass with any humans she _did_ like though.

Luke looked faintly shocked at the idea, hands hovering a few inches above her spine. “Um, yeah, looks like it.” He patted her once, awkwardly. “We had a cat when me and Andy were little, but he was a proper tomcat. Didn’t like kids at all, honestly.”

“Aw, bless,” said Danny, who’d never met a cat that didn’t love him. “Don’t stress over it, she’s a tough little cat.”

Luke hummed thoughtfully and looked down at Mittens, who chose that moment to purr in contentment.

* * *

The doorbell went just as Nick was dishing up curry into soup bowls.

“I’ll get it!” shouted Danny, as Luke made an aborted attempt to stand up from the sofa. Mittens didn’t quite dig her claws into his thighs, but Danny reckoned any extra pressure would probably hurt him considering all the bandages.

Peter grinned at him when he opened the front door. He was a bit rumpled from the drive but otherwise looked good, the early-parenthood eyebags having eased up after the first few months. Danny approved silently of his t-shirt, which had the poster for Point Break screen printed on it.

“Long time no see,” he said, cheerful to a fault. “How’s the swan?”

“A right bastard as always,” replied Danny, stepping aside to let Peter through to the hallway. “We reckon there’s a whole flock now.”

“I think it’s a bevy if it’s swans,” said Peter, in his ‘imparting trivia’ voice. “Alright, Angel?”

Nick poked his head out of the kitchen and nodded sharply. “Yeah, thanks,” he said. “Dinner’s just being served, Danny can show you through to the dining room.”

“Oh he can, can he?” said Danny, raising his eyebrows.

Nick rolled his eyes. “My husband, who has done nothing all afternoon but pick up a stray dinner guest, might possibly be prevailed on to show you where the dining room is.”

“Much better,” Danny replied. “This way then, Peter.”

The dining room was through an archway on the opposite end of the living room. Danny waved at Luke when they came in the door. Peter looked, momentarily, very unsettled.

“Dinner is served,” he said, motioning Luke through the archway. He smiled as both Peter and Luke sat down, directly across from each other at the round wooden table. “Bon appetit.”

Nick took the space opposite Danny, of course, looking a bit put out at the separation, and distributed chapatis around the table. “Drive alright?”

Peter blinked at him, chapati already torn and a chunk dipped in sauce. “Oh, yeah. M25 clearly decided to have an off day, only got stuck once.”

“‘S the sigil wearing down I expect,” said Danny. He winked at Peter, who laughed — he’d been the one who got Danny to watch that on Prime.

“How’s Bev?” Nick continued, clearly determined to get the normal adult conversation out of the way during dinner. “And the girls?”

“Oh, Bev’s an absolute pro by now,” said Peter, eyes softening. “And the terrible twins are alright too.” He pulled his phone out of his coat, hung on the chair back, and showed off his lockscreen with a glow of pride.

Danny grinned. The littlies really _were_ adorable, no surprise given the parents. “I see you’ve given up on matching outfits,” he said.

Peter grimaced. “Oh, we chucked those out the second they outgrew them. British Heart Foundation probably had to open a new wing to house all of them.”

The photo duly cooed over, they resumed eating. Luke’s spoon scraped noisily against the bottom of the bowl. He winced.

Danny patted him on the shoulder, then failed to hide a frown as Luke jerked away.

“Sorry mate,” he said, taking his hand back. Luke took another chapati from the serving plate, head down. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“S’alright,” said Luke. He glanced at Peter who, Danny noticed, was giving Luke a really _weird_ look. “Just not used to being out and about yet.”

Dinner was pretty normal after that, although Peter did end up trailing off halfway through a work story which Danny was pretty sure would’ve ended with something cool like a unicorn or vampire or something.

Luke offered to wash up, which Nick reluctantly agreed to after Danny physically pulled him into the living room, so it was just them and Peter there when Peter said, “There’s some weird shit going on with him.”

“What, Luke?” Danny said, nonplussed. Yeah, the bloke was a bit strange, but Danny had done exactly four hours of mental health training and figured he could recognise a bit of common or garden trauma when he saw it. Not exactly weird the way Peter clearly meant it.

Nick looked relieved, though. “I thought I was imagining it,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was in need of a trim really, but Danny was holding off mentioning it. Nick looked nicer with it grown out a bit. “Only did the training a few weeks ago.”

“What, the vesti-whatsit?” asked Danny. He only did it to tease Nick really, who hated when Danny pretended to be an idiot, but it was funny pretty much every time. “I thought it was just the hibernation.”

“There’s definitely some recent encounter there,” said Peter. He frowned. “Smelled sort of like fairyland, but not quite. A bit, I don’t know, earthier.”

“Definitely trees involved,” said Nick. “Wait, _fairyland_?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Peter shot back. And in fairness, he probably would. “I’d better go check in with your friend. Has he been anywhere… forest-ish recently? Had a terrible encounter with an Ent?”

“Cartwright didn’t offer much up,” said Danny. “But he mentioned his brother was going on a camping trip a few months ago. Seemed happy he was getting out a bit.”

Actually what he’d said was, _Hope this gives him a right kick up the arse_ , but the sentiment had been a bit muddled with the relief in his voice.

Peter hummed thoughtfully. “Kitchen’s through there, right?” He asked, jabbing his thumb towards the dining room.

“Yes,” said Nick. “Try not to get into a fucking wizard duel, alright? We only just got the tiling finished.”

With barely any acknowledgement of Nick’s dire warning, Peter headed off. Danny patted Nick on the shoulder and followed. He figured Luke should have a friendly face nearby while he got the Inspector Grant treatment.

* * *

Peter was leaning back against the sideboard when Danny walked in, while Luke stood wrist deep in the washing up bowl, looking afraid for his life.

“He won’t bite,” said Danny, reassuringly. “Just wants to know if you’ve met any wizards recently.”

“Er,” said Luke, eloquently. “No?”

“Wizards were not actually on the list of suspects,” said Peter. “But thank you for ruling them out.”

Luke laughed, high pitched and clearly nervous, and glanced sideways at Danny, as if to say _Is this guy for real?_. Danny nodded, regretfully, and went to start drying up.

“So, what’s top of the list?” Danny asked, as he slid a stack of bowls onto the right shelf. “Werewolves?”

“Again, unlikely,” said Peter. “In this case I’d like to hear what Luke has to say first. Don’t want to prejudice the witness.”

“Oh, soz,” said Danny.

“Is this really happening?” Luke asked, voice strained. “Or am I having another fucking breakdown?”

“Well,” said Peter.

Danny shushed him. “Yeah, mate, it’s happening. Ghosts and ghoulies and all that, we believe in them. ‘S Peter’s whole job description, basically.”

“I also do paperwork,” offered Peter.

“Right,” said Luke, after a significant pause. He took a deep breath, somewhat ragged, and took his hands out of the washing up bowl. “I’d like to be sat down, thanks.”

He did look a bit wobbly. Danny shepherded him through to the living room, feeling a bit like a human yo-yo (but horizontal), and sat him down on the sofa. Nick raised an eyebrow.

“Alright?”

Danny squeezed into the seat next to him and patted him on the knee. “Yeah, no probz over here.”

Peter took the remaining armchair, an overstuffed monstrosity from the local secondhand shop, and gave Luke an encouraging smile. “Ground rule is that I’ll believe anything,” he said. Luke didn’t look convinced. “I got this job by interviewing a ghost.”

It was a really great story, that one. Danny had barely kept himself from asking to hear it a second time.

“Right,” said Luke. He cleared his throat, then pulled his sleeves down over his hands. His nails, Danny realised, were pretty fucking ragged. “Bit difficult to explain, I’ll be honest. Peter already made it clear he knows _something_ happened, makes it harder to know where to start.”

“Beginning works well,” said Nick, neutrally.

“What, my friend getting murdered or getting off the plane?” Luke snapped. “I’m having a hard enough time finding a therapist who won’t have me sectioned the moment I mention all the fucking — eldritch pagan bullshit.”

Peter leaned forward in his chair. “Oh?”

“Almost got impaled by a giant deer god,” said Luke. Danny glanced at his hands again — they were shaking pretty badly. “All my friends got killed. Had to explain the whole thing to some fucking shady government agents on both sides of passport control.”

He tugged at his sleeves again. “Is that, uh, enough for you?”

“Yes,” said Peter. “And, sorry. I do need to keep an eye out for anyone who interacts with the demi-monde, but there’s no need to be an arsehole about it.”

Luke shrugged, one-shouldered, and sighed. “May as well get it out there early. Even Andy doesn’t know about the end of it. Just thinks I got fucked up the normal way.”

“Not really one normal way,” said Peter. He wavered visibly. “My best friend left me handcuffed to a corpse.”

“Fucking hell,” said Danny. This had _not_ been included in any of Peter’s work stories.

“We weren’t really friends by then,” he mused. “But it was, uh, the point of no return.”

They all sat quietly for a few moments. Luke, alone on the loveseat, curled his legs beneath him and crossed his arms. “So, are we going to be sharing trauma all evening, or is Only Connect on?”

“That the only show that’ll do?” Danny asked. “Because otherwise we’ve got a load of stuff that needs clearing off the box, might as well do it with company.”

There was a documentary on action movies he’d made sure got recorded, and a couple of episodes of The Wire that Nick had been nagging him to get through.

“Sounds good,” said Peter. “Case talk in the morning. They’ve put me up in The Swan again and I’m eager to avoid sleeping there.”

“Wicked,” said Danny. He looked over at Luke, who was slowly starting to sag into the sofa. Mittens had made a home on his lap, purring softly. “Seems we could do with a nice quiet night in for once.”

**Author's Note:**

> the twins are called rosa and tamara
> 
> despite referencing the babies i have STILL not read false value (it's been a stressful year okay). this is an au in which i cherry pick aspects of canon and therefore there is still some polyamory going on in the bg
> 
> the ritual is a horror movie in which rafe spall plays a traumatised millennial on the world's worst camping holiday. it's like the descent but with a forest, and barrow from downton abbey plays his nicest friend. watch it!
> 
> title from [within this tree](http://www.phys.unm.edu/~tw/fas/yits/archive/hirshfield_withinthistree.html) by jane hirshfield
> 
> find me on twitter/tumblr @dotsayers!


End file.
